Dance in Darkness
by Sings-off-key
Summary: NWN2 OC.  Karlas, an aspiring thief in search of adventure, scrapes the mud of West Harbor off his boots.  Contains slash.
1. Stinking Swamp Village

_Author's Note: This is my first attempt at slash (male + male relationship) and it will probably not be terribly explicit but still…if you don't like slash, please skip this tale. I won't be offended! Also, the PC is a minor by our standards (if not by his) so if that offends you, see first sentence. (This version has been revised and, ahem, toned down from the original, for those who may have read it in its earlier form.)_

**Dance in Darkness**

**Ch. 1…Stinking Swamp Village**

I muttered to myself as I dragged a couple of fence posts, a shovel and a hammer to the Starling's back pasture. Their stupid cow Winnie had once again found a weak spot in the fencing and had wandered off to parts unknown. Once again I found myself doing stupid Starling chores. Lorne had told me to get right back to the barn once the fence was repaired and finish forking the hay up into the loft or he would (he said) beat the crap out of me. Since he was twice my size and almost as ill-tempered as his dad had been, it would be more or less suicidal to cross him. So I was pretty sure that this little fence job was going to take me a long, long time. Forking hay was hot nasty work.

Once again, Daeghun had dumped me off on the Starlings while he disappeared into the swamp. My foster father could only handle a few days of civilization at a time, if (and that was a pretty big 'if') you could in fact call West Harbor civilization. Apparently even a miniscule swamp village created too much racket for his delicate elven sensibilities. So off he would go for days or weeks at a time, checking in every so often to make sure I hadn't been run off or killed. Maybe he thought he was doing me a big favor by giving me a chance to socialize with my fellow humans. Or maybe, since he himself had been dumped off on a pack of wild elves when he was young, he thought this was how people do things. I don't know what he thought, to be honest, and he certainly never told me. After awhile, I didn't much care.

I used to stay with the wizard Tarmas, the idea being that I was to become one of his apprentices. However there was a bit of unpleasantness about some spell ingredients missing out of a locked cabinet and I became unwelcome there. In fact, Tarmas had caned me long and hard and had refused to teach me any longer. Amie at least had believed my cries of innocence. I could still remember her distressed face when the wizard gave me the boot.

Amie was a sweet girl. Gullible but sweet.

I sold the ingredients to a peddler and stashed the coins away for the happy day when I would be able to leave West Harbor forever.

There used to be a couple of other families in the village that would share the burden of my care and feeding but after the little problem I had with Tarmas and the bigger problem I had with Georg, only the Starlings would let me stay in their house.

No one had ever accused any of the Starlings of being overburdened with brains.

Still, Retta treated me decent. The oldest boy, Lorne, was harsh but it wasn't personal. He treated his brother worse than me. After their dad disappeared, the task of running the farm fell on Lorne's broad shoulders. Bevil, who was just a few months younger than me, helped where he could but he also had to take care of the twins. They were ten years younger than us and Retta had been sickly ever since their birth. So life was fairly grim at the Starling farm, and the fresh game that Daeghun brought them to pay my board was all that fed the family half the time.

I had about finished the fence and was wondering if I dared sneak over to the spring for a quick swim before I returned to the barn. I was so deep in my work and my thoughts that I made a stupid, stupid mistake. I let the Mossfeld brothers sneak up on me. I dropped the hammer I was using when someone slugged me in the ribs and that was stupid too. I was caught flat-footed and disarmed as well. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I almost deserved what they were going to try to do to me.

I scrambled to my feet and almost avoided a kick.

"Hi, Karlas," Wyl said in a jovial tone. "Nice to see you, buddy. We've been looking all over for you."

Wyl was the oldest of the brothers and also the most dangerous. His twin brothers were a year younger. Webb wasn't that bad if you caught him alone and Ward was too dumb to come in out of the rain, but Wyl kept them in line. They were all in the militia together. Once Georg, head of the militia, had made it clear that he despised me and hoped that someone would teach me a lesson or two, the Mossfelds considered me fair game. Not that we had _ever_ gotten along, but they used to be satisfied with just a shove or a punch in passing.

"Someone put a skunk in our storeroom," Wyl said. "Riled it up, too, and it sprayed everything. My mom was real upset."

"Someone put dung in our boots," Ward said.

"Someone threw a big mess of rotten fish guts under our porch," Webb said. "And my militia pay is missing."

"Someone is going to get every bone in his body broken," Wyl said. He smiled.

I didn't bother to deny anything. It really didn't matter what I said. Once you get a reputation for being a liar, there is no point in speaking the truth anymore. It's just a waste of breath. And once you get a reputation for being a thief, you might as well help yourself to whatever you want. I got the blame for every little thing that went missing or showed up broken in West Harbor.

Besides, in this case I was pretty much guilty. Although the skunk must have wandered in on its own, so I wasn't actually responsible for _everything_. Not that it mattered.

I was small and slim, and that made me a candidate for bullying, especially from big oafs like the Mossfelds, who thought size was all that counted. It isn't true that I went out of my way to antagonize them. (Every prank I pulled was in response to something one of them did first.) I've always been soft-spoken and I learned early to walk around trouble when I could. The thing is—I looked like an easy victim. My innocent face, although useful when dealing with adults, was a definite liability with my age mates. When they found out I was tougher than I looked, well, that just made me more of a challenge.

My first major Mossfeld beating had been three years ago, when I was thirteen. I dragged myself home, bloody and sniveling like a baby. Daeghun had just looked at me. I'm not sure what I had expected. An exclamation of horror? A trip to the priest for some healing? Or maybe I thought he would teach me some secret elven techniques for self defense. But no. He just looked at me. He looked at me and he said nothing. On his face, there was the slightest expression of distaste. I never even learned what disgusted him more—the blood or the tears. Or maybe it was just my human ways. Not that it mattered.

I went out to the well and drew a bucket of water to wash the blood off my face and hands. When I came back inside, he was gone. There was a jar of salve on the table but he was gone. So was his bow.

Some unwary traveler somewhere in the Mere no doubt got some unexpected protection that night. Daeghun reserved his aid and his comfort for strangers. He would take grievous wounds defending some lost fool from a pack of dire wolves and wouldn't accept so much as a piece of copper in payment. But for me, his so-called son, there was nothing.

After that, I knew I was on my own, with the Mossfelds, and with everything else.

"Sorry to hear about your troubles, Wyl," I said, watching for my chance. They all started swinging. I ducked and dodged, took a couple of blows that made my ribs ache. I vaulted over the fence behind me, sure I could outrun them. The Mossfelds were as big as oxen and about as swift. Unfortunately one of them grabbed a fistful of my tunic and dragged me back. Then it got bad for a few moments.

"Hey!" someone bellowed. It was Lorne. I had never been so glad to see him in my life. He came striding across the pasture like a titan. Wyl turned me loose and I slunk over to Lorne's side.

"What are you doing on my land, Wyl Mossfeld?" Lorne asked. The Starlings and the Mossfelds were not friendly neighbors. No one had gotten along with Retta's husband Blane, who had been quarrelsome when sober and just plain mean when drunk. Lorne wasn't as bad as Blane had been, but people around here had long memories.

"Nothing," Wyl muttered. No one liked to mess with Lorne. First off, he was huge. The Mossfelds were big men but Lorne had to bend down when he walked through a doorway. More importantly, Lorne was unpredictable. Although he didn't seem to pick fights like his father had, sometimes little things would set him off.

"We're just dealing with a sneaking little troublemaker," Ward said. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"While Karlas is staying here, you'd best leave him alone or you'll have something to worry about yourself," Lorne said. "Now get off my land."

"Well," I said once they were gone. "Thanks." I wasn't sure anyone had ever defended me before.

"Came out here to see if you were shirking your work," he said. He smiled a little. "Looks like you were."

"Sorry," I said. It hurt when I smiled back. I licked blood off my lip. "I got a little distracted."

"I see that. Are you hurt?"

"Just bruises." He looked me over and nodded his head. Between us, it only took a short while to finish repairing the fence.

"You know," Lorne said. "If you would stop stirring them up, they would leave you alone."

"No offense," I said. "But you have no idea what you are talking about. People treat someone like you a whole lot different than someone like me. They beat me up because they can, not because of what I do."

"But why do you keep messing with them?"

"Self respect." Lorne chuckled. He picked up the shovel and I took the hammer.

"Looks like the rain is going to hold off," he said. "Let's go swimming and leave the hay for tomorrow."

"Great."

There was a very deep spring not far from the farmhouse. Water trickled away in a narrow channel to the spring house, where crocks of butter and milk were kept cold, as well as eggs and other perishable foods. Large trees shaded the spring, and there was a rope swing as well as a rude ladder, which the more daring could climb and then dive in from the higher branches. On a hot day like today, the water seemed icy.

We dropped our clothes by the spring house. Lorne grabbed the rope and swung halfway across the spring, dropping in with a mighty bellow and a huge splash. I, of course, climbed as high as I could go and dived in straight as an arrow.

"Oh, ye gods!" I cried as I surfaced. Lorne laughed. We both swam around a little and then climbed out and found a patch of sun to lie in to dry out.

"How old are you now?" Lorne asked.

"Sixteen," I said.

"You look younger."

"Sorry," I said sarcastically. "We can't all be giants." He laughed.

"I'm not insulting you," he said. "It's just…we don't talk much, do we?"

His eyes swept over me. The Starling boys swam in their loincloths if Retta or the twins were present, but normally they wore nothing. I, of course, had absorbed Daeghun's elven disregard for casual nudity. But suddenly I became aware that we were both naked—and alone.

"I guess not." He was five years older than me. That used to be a huge gulf, but now it was just five years.

"You're old enough to strike out on your own. So what are your plans? Are you going to stay in West Harbor?"

"Gods, no," I said fervently. He raised his brows. "Sorry, I'm sure you love it here and it's great and all that. But I'll be heading out as soon as I can get a bit of coin together."

"To do what?"

"Well, I don't know. Not really. Not farming, though, that's for sure." That was tactless. "Sorry. It's just not for me."

Lorne sighed.

"I do not love it here," he said in a low voice. I turned on my side to look at him, not sure I had heard him right. "I would have left a long time ago, if not for my mom and the kids. After my dad left, well, they need me here." He sighed again. "Being a farmer is not for me either."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He shrugged.

"No point in complaining about what you can't change," he said. "One day maybe things will be different."

If I had to stay here five more years, I would probably lose my mind. And if Lorne was waiting for the twins to grow old enough to take care of themselves, well, that could be another ten years or so. I looked at Lorne with new sympathy.

"So tell me," he said, obviously changing the subject. "What do you do with yourself all day? When you're not helping out here, that is."

"Oh, I hunt a little. Fish a little. You know." Actually, I had an unofficial apprenticeship with Lewy Jons, but Lorne didn't need to know that. Lewy lived by himself out in the Mere. He had been a Shadow Thief in Amn, but when Athkatla got too hot for him, he had moved to Neverwinter. Then he got in trouble there as well, and now he lived here, in nowhere. He taught me a little about locks and traps when he felt like it and I brought him ale or mead from the village when I felt like it.

"Girl friend?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Oh," I said. "No, nothing like that." I'd had hopes of Amie at one time but I rarely got to see her anymore. Besides, she seemed to like Bevil better anyway.

"Oh," he said and he looked me over again. Suddenly I understood what that look meant. He was interested and I felt a little stupid for not picking up on it earlier.

"Boy friend?" he asked, more quietly.

"No," I said, and because I owed him, I added, "I don't have any real friends here except for Amie and Bevil."

"And me?"

"I'd like us to be friends." Because face it: if Lorne was my friend, my worries with the Mossfelds would pretty much go away. Besides, he had just saved me from a beating and if he wanted to call it due, so be it.

He brushed my hair from my face. He watched my eyes and when I didn't object, his hand curled around the back of my neck. He leaned over and kissed me. His fingers dug lightly into the nape of my neck. It was all rather pleasant. I relaxed and leaned into him slightly.

We were naked from swimming so that saved a step or two, I guessed. His hip pressed up against me and he was already aroused. He was a very large man and he was built like a bull. Sheer curiosity made me wrap my hand around him.

"Gods," I said. "I hope you aren't planning on doing anything too invasive with this."

Lorne laughed.

"Well, that would be up to you, wouldn't it?"

I certainly hoped so. He kissed me again, harder, and his arms closed around me. This was the first time I had ever kissed anyone and it was nice. Very nice.

So there I was, lying in the sweet-smelling ferns with my hand somewhere it had never been and I was starting to get rather aroused myself and…

"You know, Lorne, I have absolutely no idea what to do now," I admitted.

He laughed again.

"Maybe I can give you a few ideas," he said.


	2. Old Enough to Fight

_Author's Note: In case this isn't clear, the events in this chapter take place some years before the beginning of the game… _

**Ch. 2…Old Enough to Fight**

Lorne and I sat in the deep shade under a large oak, taking a break from cutting hay. Lorne made using a scythe look easy but I hated every moment of it and felt fortunate I hadn't cut off my foot or any other essential body part. I ached all over too. I couldn't believe I was such an idiot as to get myself talked into this, although if I wasn't here, I'd be doing worse chores for Daeghun no doubt.

And there were special compensations for working with Lorne.

I had kept my shirt on while we worked, because my skin sunburns easily. Now the shirt hung over a nearby shrub to air out. We'd been up since well before dawn and the buzz of the grasshoppers made me feel more than a little sleepy. Lorne's hair was still pulled back in a club but I had untied mine. I ran my fingers through it to encourage it to dry but the day was so humid that it probably wouldn't.

"I guess my mama told your dad we have been, um, sleeping together," Lorne said. He gave me a little sideways look.

"Oh, yes," I said with a laugh. "I think she expected him to give me some sort of fatherly admonition."

"Well?" When I made no reply, he added, "And did he?" I laughed again.

"Daeghun? Not hardly."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Not about that. He asked me if I had reached my adult size."

"What?" Lorne stared at me.

I grinned back.

"That was my reaction. But he meant had I reached my full stature. He knows so little of humans that he didn't know if I was still growing or not. I told him this was about all I could expect."

"And why did he want to know?"

"Apparently he has some leather set aside to make me a breastplate and bracers. I guess if I'm old enough to have sex, I'm old enough to fight. Oh, and I can't come help with the hay tomorrow. He's got me scraping hides all day." I made a face.

He shook his head a little. Daeghun was the only elf in West Harbor and folks had a lot of curiosity about him. Lorne rolled his shoulders a little, working out the strain. I knelt behind him and began digging my thumbs into his tense muscles. He sighed a little and relaxed against me. I liked touching him and I knew I'd get my turn later. Lorne was good about that.

"So," I said after a few moments. "Why is your mother so disapproving?"

"Of us, you mean?" he asked slowly. I kept up with the massage. "Well…she thinks I'm a little old for you. That's all."

_Liar_, I thought amiably. Did he think I was deaf? You can't keep any secrets in a small farmhouse. _She thinks we spend too much time together and not enough time working. She thinks I'm a bad influence on you. And I hope she's right._

Lorne lay on his belly in the thick carpet of leaves and I straddled him and started working my hands down his back. His family worshipped Chauntea but he had the kind of strong, athletic body that any of the warrior gods would love.

"Daeghun said I could take his furs to High Cliff to trade this fall," I said. "That merchant Galen that comes to West Harbor every year cheats him outrageously and I know I can get a better price. Orlen is taking a load of grain up the coast after the Harvest Festival and he'll give me a ride in his wagon."

"That sounds great," he said enviously. He made a contented sound as my hands made their way down to his waist.

"It will be. I'm not coming back."

Lorne made a restless move and I got off him so we could lie side by side. His eyes questioned me a little anxiously.

"Daeghun doesn't know this, but I'm going on to Neverwinter," I said. The coin from the furs would pay my passage and keep me going quite awhile. It should last long enough for me to meet up with some of Lewy Jons' old Shadow Thief contacts, assuming any of them were still around. Long enough to get myself established.

"But Karlas…" He buried his fingers in my hair. "I don't want you to go."

"Come with me," I said. He wanted to say yes. For a moment, his eyes lit up with the possibilities. Then they darkened.

"I can't," he said. "I can't leave my family now. They need me."

I put my hand on his shoulder and traced a languid line across the strong muscles of his chest.

"The harvest will be in by then," I said. "They don't need you over the winter. By the time spring planting comes around, we'll have made enough coin that you can hire help for Bevil, if he needs it." My hand had worked down to his hip. We were both hot and sweaty but I pulled him in closer anyway.

"He can probably handle it himself though," I added. "You did all these years. It's time for you to do what you want." My hand drifted downwards and got very friendly. "I wish you would come with me."

His hand went to the back of my neck and he kissed me almost frantically. I started loosening the tie to his pants. He groaned a little and let me have my way with him.

"I can't go with you," he said. I scooted down and rubbed my face against his bare hip. I looked up into his eyes.

"Well," I breathed. "That's too bad."

xxxxx

Often the cooler fall weather has come to West Harbor by the time the Harvest Festival rolls around, but not this year. Even early in the morning, the air was warm and humid like a damp blanket. I didn't mind. I'd rather sweat all day than shiver one time. I hoped Neverwinter would live up to its name because I had always hated the cold.

The last several days, I had spent as much time as I could with Lewy Jons, soaking up what information he would give me of the Shadow Thieves in Neverwinter, and any other instruction I could cajole out of him. This cost me some of my jealously hoarded gold but I hoped the payout would be worth it.

Few words passed between me and Daeghun but I'm sure he had more than an inkling of my plans. Not only had he finished my armor, he had made me a new travel pack, and filled it with enough supplies for two or three trips to High Cliff. There were new bowstrings in a waxed pouch and a quiver full of freshly fletched arrows. The only parting gift I had for him was my absence but I was sure it would come as quite a relief. Why he had ever agreed to be responsible for my care was a complete mystery to me, but I had long since given up on getting any kind of explanation from him.

The excited voices of the children running around the village square only emphasized how much I longed to scrape the mud of West Harbor off my boots. I already wished the day was over so I could get on with my life—my real life.

Even Lorne seemed to look forward to the festival.

"Where have you been? Let's go sign up to compete for the Harvest Cup," he said, no more than a moment after I joined him in the square. I had already noticed the twins running around, so the family must have arrived quite early.

"Why?" I asked, grimacing. It was nothing more than the same four dull contests they did every year, with each team getting points for how they placed. The winning team got bragging rights and free mead for the evening. As usual, Georg was presiding over the contest. I didn't particularly want my last few memories of my birthplace dominated by his sour disapproval. Or by getting the crap beat out of me in the Harvest Brawl.

"You don't want to?" he asked and his face actually fell with disappointment. "But this is the last year I can compete." I slid my arm around his waist for a moment. I couldn't believe he wanted to waste my last day here on this nonsense. I had given up on persuading him to come with me and he had given up on persuading me to stay. Now he seemed to be basically pretending that nothing was going to change.

"I thought we might slip away for awhile and find something…else…to do," I said.

He smiled down at me but I could tell he was still disappointed. I almost relented, but no. It was my last day here and I was not going to ruin it.

"I can't. Mama is judging the Tourney of Talent so I have to keep an eye on the twins," he said.

"Oh. Well, if you want to compete for the Cup that bad, why don't you team up with Bevil?" Bevil might be small compared to Lorne, but he was still a big strong West Harbor lad and should be more than capable of knocking some heads in the Brawl.

"Bevil already has a team."

"You're kidding. Who?"

"Amie and…Cormick."

"Oh." A few things became unpleasantly clear.

Cormick and Lorne were the same age, and were both big, strong, good-looking young men. They had been friendly rivals for…well, forever. But something had happened a couple of years ago that had turned that rivalry mean. In the typical way of villages, everyone knew some of what had happened, but no one seemed to know the whole story and neither one of the principals were talking. Most people agreed that some harsh words had been said about Lorne's father and why he had deserted the family.

That may have been true but Lorne did let slip once that the two of them had been lovers for a time. He wouldn't tell me what exactly had happened to make them fall out but I had a guess or two. Lorne, I was discovering, had a very jealous and possessive nature. He also had a hasty temper. Cormick I didn't know so well but he had a reputation for being stubborn and out-spoken. The two of them together seemed a recipe for disaster.

"Why in Tymora's name would Bevil team up with Cormick?" I asked. He always teamed up with Amie, for they were good friends, but he must have known Lorne would be upset about Cormick. Lorne's lips turned down a little.

"He's not happy about us," he said in a low voice. And that made some sense. Retta had voiced her disapproval. Bevil agreed with whatever his mama said. And besides, Bevil had been very shy around me ever since the day he had come into the barn looking for Lorne and found the two of us…together.

"Well…" I said, and he sensed I was weakening.

"We need to sign up now if you want to compete," he said hopefully. "The Tourney of Talent will start shortly." I made a face.

"And what exactly did you have in mind to do for the Tourney?" I asked. He put his arm around my waist and leaned down to nuzzle against my ear.

"I thought you might like to juggle."

"I hope that is a joke." Lorne gave me an extremely sheepish look. It wasn't.

The good news was that I only had to face one day's worth of humiliation before I was gone from this village forever. And the look on Georg's face when the two of us signed up made it almost worthwhile.

"Who is on your team?" Georg asked Lorne, pointedly ignoring me.

"Just the two of us," I answered, leaning against Lorne a little and smirking provocatively.

"Well, you won't have much problem with the Knaves' Challenge," he said sarcastically. Then he gave a little smirk of his own. "But good luck in the Brawl."

It was my turn to frown.

"We'll be fine," Lorne said reassuringly as we left the tent but I wasn't so sure. We walked to the food pavilion and I bought little fruit pies for Lorne and the twins and talked the cook out of three small apples.

Lewy had taught me the rudiments of juggling when I was eight or ten, claiming it was a good exercise for improving my hand-eye coordination. Like many small boys, I was excited by the thought of astounding my friends with this new skill. Like many small boys, I had vastly overestimated how impressed they would be by my fumbling efforts. Nonetheless I had practiced endlessly until I could keep four balls in the air, and even five, if I was lucky. But it had been a long time since juggling had amused me. I slipped into an empty barn to practice for a few minutes while the Starlings ate their pies.

Amie started off the show. Last year she had been disqualified when she cast a daze spell that affected half the audience, including the judge. (That was also the reason Retta Starling was judging the contest this year for everyone else had refused the honor.) This year Amie was being very conservative. She cast a couple of balls of light that bounced over Bevil's and Cormick's heads. It would have been prettier and more impressive at night. Then Bevil flung a bucket of water high into the air and she froze it. I suspect she had intended the water to come down as snow. That would have been nice. Instead of snow, chunks of ice pelted the audience like hail. I thought that was actually pretty funny but I stifled my laugh since she was my friend and she looked so embarrassed. That was the act. Everyone applauded except for those still picking ice out of their hair.

Some fellow from one of the outlying farms had trained his goat to count and do a few other cute little tricks. Unfortunately, the man was so painfully shy that his voice barely reached a whisper, and only those of us on the competitors' bench could hear him. It pretty much ruined his act when no one could tell what exactly the goat was supposed to be doing.

Then it was the Mossfelds' turn. For a big burly guy, Ward Mossfeld had an amazingly high-pitched falsetto and he used it to sing a silly little ditty while his brothers flitted about pretending to be pixies. They did this exact same act every year and they were the only ones in West Harbor who found it funny. Slow learners, the Mossfelds. Most of the adults were too polite to boo but the same could not be said for the children. I smirked at Wyl as they stomped off the stage and the look he gave me promised retribution.

Then it was my turn. There are plenty of things one could say about me, but I've never been accused of being shy. Instead of walking straight onto the stage, I walked around the benches and warmed up with a few disappearing coin tricks, pretending to discover coins in people's ears, under their feet, and the like. Then I moved onto the stage and started juggling the apples, slow at first, and then faster and higher.

I heard a snicker and saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, and that gave me enough warning to shift my juggling pattern to two apples in one hand and one in the other. So when Wyl Mossfeld tossed the egg at me, I was able to catch it. Tymora's grace kept the egg from breaking in my hand. I juggled it with the apples for a moment, to the laughter of everyone but the Mossfelds. The audience laughed even harder when I tossed the egg back and it broke on Wyl's chest, letting out a wonderfully rotten stench.

"Boy," Lewy hollered and he tossed me a pear. After that, several other people tossed me small objects until I finally came to grief when I tried to juggle the cork out of a mead bottle. It was too small and too light and I ended up dropping everything. I laughed and gave the crowd a low bow, and that was how I came to win the Tourney of Talent.

Tarmas called all the competitors together and recited the rhyme for this year's Knaves' Challenge. Every year three carved and painted wooden feathers were hidden around the square, and the teams got points for how many were found and recovered.

In an irritated voice, Tarmas began.

"Blue sky up above.

Red rose stands for love.

Green frog in a log."

I couldn't decide if this year's rhyme was even stupider than last year's. The blue feather would be somewhere high. I had a pretty fair idea where the red feather would be, but no clue to the green. We had all day to puzzle out the location of the feathers, but meantime the archery contest was about to begin.

I felt confident I would do well, for Daeghun had put a bow in my hand as soon as I was strong enough to draw one. Turns out I was a little overconfident. If we had been allowed to use our own bows, I would have been fine but we were handed out the pathetic crossbows used by the militia for training. Even with a few practice shots, I still struggled with the damn thing. Cormick shot for his team. He won first place and I took second.

"You did great," Lorne said, "And we're still ahead on points." I realized then that he cared nothing about winning, only about beating Cormick. For some reason, that irritated me but I said nothing.

We had several hours before the Brawl. While Lorne went to check that the twins hadn't managed to kill themselves, I headed straight for Chauntea's shrine at the edge of the square. Roses are sacred to Chauntea, and sure enough, I found a little locked box tucked under one of the rose bushes. It was a puzzle lock, meant to be opened without tools, but it was quicker to pick it open than to figure it out. I tucked the red feather into the pouch at my hip.

The blue feather would be high above the ground, and the problem was that Tarmas, the wizard, could have levitated somewhere that a normal person would have great difficulty reaching. It would be just like him to put it somewhere impossible to retrieve. Still, the village elders would likely frown on any of the competitors actually getting killed during the contest (except during the Brawl) so I spent my time gazing at rooftops and trees of reasonable height and accessibility.

There was a ladder leaning suspiciously near Orlen's house, so I ruled that out immediately. It did catch the attention of a couple of the other teams and I grinned to see them start to tussle over it. I noticed some shingles out of alignment on Georg Redfell's house. I grabbed Lorne's arm and pulled him to the back of the house, out of sight of the others. I didn't need a ladder when I had a giant handy. He gave me a boost and I scrambled onto the roof. There were three or four loose shingles (tricky wizard) but I searched them all and at last I found the blue feather.

Then we had a spot of bad luck. We saw Amie and Cormick winching up the bucket at the well and the look on her face when she slipped her hand inside the bucket told me she had found the green feather. 'Wet frog in a log.' What a stupid clue. She handed the feather to Cormick and he put it in his tunic pocket.

Well, that was a mistake. Heh, heh.

"Quick, go say something to Bevil," I whispered to Lorne. He frowned at me, confused, but approached the other team. Lorne asked Bevil if he had seen the twins, and I put my arm on his shoulder and gave Cormick a sweet smile. He scowled at me, which made me feel good, but I felt even better when I 'accidentally' bumped him and lifted the green feather.

I interrupted Lorne and dragged him over to Tarmas. I gave him the feathers. I almost laughed out loud at his look of bitter distaste when he had to award us the bonus points for finding all three of them. But it was even funnier when Cormick, staring at us in consternation, put his hand in his pocket and discovered he'd been robbed.

And to think I hadn't wanted to enter this contest.


	3. The Brawl

**Ch. 3…The Brawl**

Cormick stalked over to us. It was a good moment to slip away but Lorne stood planted like a tree, his face set in stubborn lines. Cormick's eyes slid to Lorne but he came to stand in front of me. Amie and Bevil followed, both looking rather upset.

"You little thief," Cormick said furiously. "You took that feather out of my pocket." I smiled.

"I sure did." I gave him a provocative look. "If you want to keep something, you should hang onto it better." I thought about putting my arm around Lorne to rub it in but Cormick was already mad enough.

"You cheated," he said. I opened my eyes wide.

"I cheated? Whatever do you mean? This is the Knaves' Challenge, after all." I smiled again. "There was nothing keeping you from doing the same."

He grabbed me by the front of my tunic.

"There's nothing keeping me from knocking your teeth down your throat."

But there was and he stood right beside me. Lorne gave him a shove and I twisted out of Cormick's hold.

"Keep your hands off him," Lorne said in his deep growl. Cormick abandoned me for the moment and stared straight at Lorne.

"Karlas is no good," Cormick said in a low voice. "He's a thief and a liar. You know that. We all do. I can't believe you are taking up with him. I thought better of you, Lorne."

"It's no business of yours, is it, who I take up with?" Lorne said. Cormick's brows drew down and for a moment, I thought I saw more than anger in his expression. I thought there was pain as well. Then he shrugged.

"I suppose not," he said. Amie and Bevil, looking worried and embarrassed, urged him in whispers to come away. Cormick followed them, but turned and over his shoulder said, "You really are very much like your father, aren't you? I hadn't realized that before. It's a pity, Lorne. You could have done so much more with yourself."

Lorne reddened with anger. In one swift move, he grabbed Cormick's arm, spun him around and punched him in the face. Then the fight was on. Bevil tried to pull Cormick away and got knocked down for his trouble. Not being a total fool, I stayed out of the way. Only a few punches were exchanged before some of the older men—Orlen, Georg, Lazlo and even Daeghun—ran up and separated them.

"Save it for the Brawl, lads," Georg said sternly. Once he was sure the fight wasn't going to start up again, he turned and gave me a narrow-eyed look like everything was my fault. Well, that was the typical attitude in the village and from him in particular. At least I didn't get his well-worn lecture about the grim fate awaiting troublemakers.

Cormick pulled a cloth from his pocket and used it to stem the blood dripping from his nose. He and Lorne glared at each other another moment, ignoring the avid stares from the small crowd that had gathered around.

"You'd best watch yourself, Lorne," Cormick finally said. "Lest Karlas bring you the same luck he brought Daeghun and his own mother."

This drew some muttered comments from the spectators. Lorne surged forward but Orlen and Georg held him back. My eyes went to Daeghun. There was no change in his expression—there seldom was—but he had stiffened almost imperceptibly. I had no idea what Cormick was talking about but apparently just about everyone else did.

Daeghun turned and left without a word. Cormick looked slightly ashamed and let Bevil and Amie pull him back towards the tents.

"Come on," I told Lorne and led him off towards what was known in West Harbor as the river. This far south it was little more than an unnavigable stream. We walked along in silence, leaving the village behind. Many farms clustered along the banks but we saw no one working. Everyone was at the fair of course.

Once it looked like he had cooled down, I found a conveniently placed boulder for us to sit on.

"What was that all about?" I asked. I folded up my legs so I could rest my head against my knees.

"Cormick and I were pretty close once," Lorne said in his rumbling voice. "But there was bad blood between his family and mine. I got tired of Cormick always taking their side and believing everything they said about my dad." He shrugged. "It's all water under the bridge now." I tilted my head and let my expression show that I wasn't buying this tale. He gave me an unhappy frown.

"After my dad left, Cormick said some things… Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"You're both still mad about it," I said. "Doesn't sound like water under the bridge to me."

"I don't care anything about Cormick."

"Yeah, sure."

"I don't."

He put his arm around me and then spent the next little while demonstrating that he wasn't thinking about anyone else but me. I wasn't totally convinced but I was certainly most satisfactorily distracted.

"So," I said afterwards, once my heart had steadied back to something approaching normal. "What did he mean about bad luck? My mother died in childbirth. That was bad luck for her and me too, I guess, but it happens often enough. What does that have to do with you? Or with Daeghun, for that matter?"

It had inevitably occurred to me that the reason Daeghun had taken responsibility for me was because he was actually my father or had been involved in some way with my mother. Since I showed no traces of elven blood and Daeghun showed no traces of caring for anyone, I had given up on that theory long ago.

"I don't know," he said. "Just superstition, I guess."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Don't worry about it, Karlas," he said, getting up and straightening his clothes. "Let's get back before the Brawl starts."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why go back? Let's just skip it, okay? It's my last day in West Harbor, let's just enjoy it together."

"Karlas, if we don't show up for our matches, we will forfeit them," he said patiently, as if I had somehow managed to not understand that little rule.

"So? I don't care anything about this Brawl or who wins it."

"I do."

He didn't want Cormick to think he wouldn't face him. His bullheaded look could not be argued with so I sighed and followed him back to the village square.

We got back just in time. Teams were chosen by lot to face each other, with the winners of the first two matches facing each other in the final match. And as it happened, luck favored us. Cormick had to face the Mossfelds in the first match, while we had to face the team from the outlying farms.

There were four on their team, and all related by the looks of them. It turned out they were cousins. We only had to fight three of them, since one of the cousins was only twelve and too young to enter the ring. When the numbers are uneven, it's the larger team's choice if they want to drop a member and even things up. They would get an extra point for dropping a teammate but they took one look at Lorne and decided not to do so. I could hardly blame them.

Lazlo Buckman was officiating this year, so that meant the rules—no kicking, biting, eye gouging, or blows to the genital area—would be at least nominally enforced. Folks still grumbled about the year Pitney Lannon was in charge of the Brawl and it had to be cancelled in the third round due to the priest running out of healing spells.

Our match came first. We were all handed padded clubs and shoved into the ring. Lorne's eyes gleamed with anticipation and there was a chipper little smile on his face. He was practically humming with happiness.

I could have kicked him.

I didn't see Daeghun in the crowd but everyone else was there, as far as I could tell. And most everyone seemed to be rooting for the strangers—or more accurately, rooting against us.

Something changed in Lorne when he finally realized that most of the people he had grown up with and worked beside and had known all his life were hoping to see him get beat. Part of the problem was that he was just so darned big. Even though we were outnumbered and even though I certainly could not be counted as much of an asset in the Brawl, it almost didn't seem fair, the way Lorne towered over the others. In itself that was enough to cause sympathy for the other team but of course there was more.

The little drama just enacted with Cormick hadn't helped. Cormick was popular and Lorne tended to keep to himself. Although people respected Retta, Lorne was too much like Blane, her despised husband—moody, ill-tempered and unpredictable. And then there was me. There were always plenty of folks eager to see someone beat the crap out of me. I was used to drawing the villagers' scorn but the experience was new to Lorne and he did not care for it at all.

The happiness faded out of his eyes to be replaced with something grimmer yet every bit as anticipatory.

I wouldn't say I'm useless in a straight-up fight but I'm better at avoiding getting hurt than I am at dishing out a lot of pain. It didn't matter. All I had to do was guard Lorne's back. He mowed them down in a matter of moments.

There were no cheers and no congratulations when we won, just a low muttering as Brother Merring rushed into the ring to tend to the three farmers. Lorne brushed past everyone and went straight to the mead table and helped himself to a mug while Lazlo watched anxiously over the priest's shoulder as he healed their wounds. I stuck with Lorne and didn't say a word. No one approached us; no one had anything to say.

I followed him silently to the ring, where we watched Cormick's match with the Mossfelds. Ward and Webb tried to keep Cormick busy while Wyl, with one unchivalrous blow, dropped Amie and then concentrated on Bevil. Bevil fought furiously after he saw Amie hit the dirt. This was a side of him I hadn't seen before. I knew he had recently started training with the militia but I hadn't really thought of him as a fighter. Lorne overshadowed him but I was wrong to underestimate Bevil. That was the mistake that Wyl made and it cost the brothers the match.

Cormick was a wily fighter. He held back and waited for the Mossfeld boys to make a mistake and then he quickly moved in and punished them for it. Like Lorne, he was five years older than the rest of us, and that made a difference—a big difference. Those extra years had been spent in the militia, and say what you like about Georg, he seemed to be able to pass on some skills.

Lorne had dropped out of the militia when his father left. I suddenly wondered if that was going to make a difference. Lorne was stronger than anyone I had ever met but I had never seen him fight like I was seeing Cormick fight now.

The match was finally over. Cormick watched while Brother Merring bent over Amie. After a few moments, when Amie sat up and gave him a weak smile, he hopped out of the ring and headed for the well. He pulled up a bucket of water and took a great drink from the dipper chained nearby.

"Wait here," Lorne told me and he strode over to Cormick. I couldn't hear what they said but I saw Lorne speak earnestly for a moment. Cormick looked straight at me, unsmiling, and he said something to Lorne. There was more talking and Cormick stopped to take another big drink. Then he nodded to Lorne and the two of them walked over to Lazlo. Whatever they had to say seemed to surprise Lazlo quite a bit.

Then Lorne joined me. I lifted my brows.

"We've agreed that the final match will be just Cormick and me," he said.

Cowardly relief flooded me.

"But Lorne, are you sure?"

"It is better this way," he said. "I don't want to have to fight Bevil, or Amie, for that matter. It's just not right. You understand, don't you, Karlas?" He was almost apologetic, as if he was snatching some great treat from me and thought I would be miffed. I gave him a big hug and that took him by surprise. He smiled down at me. That was the last smile I saw from him for quite some time.

The fight was a disaster.

The crowd was restless but quiet while Brother Merring said a few words to dedicate the final match to Chauntea. When he stepped out of the ring and the two competitors entered, the catcalls began. Bevil, Amie and I stood together to watch. In a loud voice, Wyl Mossfeld urged Cormick to knock Lorne down, and then added a suggestion so lewd and vulgar that Amie opened her eyes wide in shock and Bevil clenched his fists. Some of the villagers gave Wyl disapproving looks but there were some who actually laughed.

That set the tone for the rest of the match. I promised myself then and there that if I ever found myself in the position to serve Wyl Mossfeld an ill turn, I would take it without hesitation.

Lorne went immediately on the offensive, attacking with savage sweeps of his club, blows that, if they had hit, even with the padding, promised broken bones. Cormick dodged or blocked each one. It was glaringly obvious that Cormick meant to exhaust him. Lorne should have hung back and forced Cormick to move against him. The roars of the spectators, the derisive comments of the Mossfelds, and most of all, whatever quiet words Cormick used to taunt him (for I could see his mouth move and read the expressions on both their faces) cast all thoughts of strategy out of Lorne's head.

Lorne was the bull, lost in mindless rage, and Cormick was the bulldog dancing in to harass and bait him. I could scarcely bear to watch the inevitable end.

Later I wondered if things might have turned out differently if I had been in the ring with him. Could I have deflected that anger, could I have called him back to himself? That was one of those questions that could never be answered.

Lorne never yielded. I was not certain the words were even within him to do so. Cormick drove him to his knees and stood over him, ready to crack him again with the club. Lazlo stepped into the ring and declared the match over and Cormick the winner. I brushed past Brother Merring, who had hurried into the ring, greatly distressed. I took Lorne by the arm and pulled him to his feet. There was commotion all around, a vague roaring in the background that I had no interest in. Lorne didn't seem badly hurt, only dazed and exhausted.

Lorne said nothing as I dragged him off to our house. I knew Daeghun would be gone; he invariably spent the evening of the Harvest Fair out in the woods somewhere. I sat him at the kitchen table, pulled off his tunic and cleaned his wounds, using Daeghun's healing salve lavishly. He still didn't speak when I led him up the stairs to my room but he was aware of my presence. As soon as I undressed, he pushed me onto the bed and took me savagely, with all of the unexpressed anger and frustration and humiliation burning within him. Yet when he was spent, the anger still remained. He left me at last with no words of farewell. Just like Daeghun. I thought I would never see either one of them again.

But in the predawn glimmer, as I shouldered my pack and the awkward bundle of Daeghun's furs and started down the path to Orlen's farm to catch my ride to High Cliff on his wagon, someone moved in the shadows. It was Lorne. I thought he had come to say goodbye until I saw the pack at his feet. My face and my heart both lifted in sudden exhilaration.

"I'm coming with you," was all he said.


End file.
